


Scrimshaw

by Sealie



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-31
Updated: 1999-03-31
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: This story is a sequel toRabbit.





	Scrimshaw

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know that these due South fics are coded incorrectly. Yes, I know that there are rampant Briticisms. Yes, I know that the spelling is very flawed in places. Yes, I know that the grammar is _wrong_. 
> 
> If you read the fic, I don’t need you to tell me these things. 
> 
> I was a very little, new fanfic writing/posting fan when I wrote these stories. I hadn’t learned some of the methods of managing my dyslexia, which I use everyday today with varying degrees of success. I hadn’t learned a lot of things.
> 
> I tried several times over the years to get the due South archivist to delete them to no avail. When I saw them uploaded to Ao3 -- after sitting staring in abject horror at the screen -- I also considered claiming and deleting them myself, but they are part of my history, even though they generally only received nasty comments.
> 
> I’m leaving them here for the time being. Remember, we were all new and inexperienced at some point.

Scrimshaw 

Standard disclaimer. Rating: 'G'.

# Scrimshaw.

Sealie Scott

A smile crossed the old man's face as his young great-grandson ran ahead a few steps, stopped, turned and ran back. The retired trawler captain hobbled on his walking sticks as the boy darted away again. The small boy's stocky legs were unfaltering as he ran up and down the basalt stone path leading up to the rocky headland overlooking the churning Arctic sea. 

"Ganggan!" Benton bounced on his heels. The pet name the child had dubbed upon him made the Great-grandfather feel absolutely wonderful. 

"Ganggan, did you bring Daddy up here?" Benton spun on his heel and danced around the old man. 

"Robert? Oh, yes - indeed." 

"Really?" the child's eyes gleamed. "What did you do?" 

"Robert liked running _everywhere_ especially over there." Benton Fraser Snr released his hold on one of his sticks long enough to point towards a rocky outcrop. 

"What's over there?" 

"The sea," the Great-grandfather said sibilantly. 

Benton echoed his Great-grandfather's words and then darted ahead. The small figure wrapped in a cut down duffel-coat and oversized baggy jeans disappeared behind a storm tossed boulder. Doggedly, the Great-grandfather followed his energetic grandson. A sharp childish scream cut the air. 

"Benton!" 

Hampered by his encroaching arthritis the old man, bent over his gnarled walking sticks, tottered forwards. 

The boy clambered out from behind another boulder further up the shore. 

"Benton, come here!" the Great-grandfather pointed imperiously at his feet. The admonishment was cut short by a hacking smoker's cough. 

White eyed and pale under his wind tossed hair, the boy ran up to his favourite relative, he was quivering, unable to contain himself. "Ganggan, there's a monster on the beach." Benton Fraser Snr allowed his heart to return to its normal rate. For a heart stopping moment he'd seen visions of his small grandson crushed amongst the rocks. His daughter-in-law, Grace, the child's grandmother standing over a tiny grave berating him for loosing her grandson. How had a bereaved, miserable child inveigled himself into his life so completely in only a matter of days? Little Benton had been a breath of fresh air in his crippled life since being dumped on complete strangers by his policeman father. 

"It's a big monster," typically Benton held his arms wide open, "wif teeth!" Wide eyed, he tugged at his Great-grandfather's ragged sleeve. Intrigued and willing to indulge the child, the old man tottered unsteadily onto the shingle beach. The stones moved from beneath the sticks. Benton instantly shored up his Great-grandfather's game leg throwing his arms around his thigh. Benton Fraser Snr shifted both sticks into one hand and with his grandson supporting his leg they moved forwards - together. He smelt the sweet scent of decaying flesh long before they hobbled to the water's edge and saw the behemoth. Shafts of bone arched into the grey sky, symmetrical and beautiful in their own way. A husk of flesh revealed a cavernous, disembowelled interior. The whale would never again swim in the freezing Arctic seas. Tiny fingers clutching at his knee woke him. 

"What is it?" Benton asked, his voice cathedral quiet. 

"Sperm Whale." 

Little Benton's head cocked to the side as he regarded the creature. 

"Dead," he stated profoundly. 

"Indeed," the old man levered himself onto a rock to rest his aching limbs. 

"Oh, dear." Benton breathed out deeply. 

With misgivings, the old man watched his Great-grandson approach the gaping mouth - gearing himself to peer into the monster insides. The child moved to the beat of his own drum, asking him to stay back from the decaying whale would initiate a sullen sulk and probably a sneaky trip later in the evening to see the whale. Benton tweaked an ivory tooth. 

"Dead," his unasked question was 'why?'. 

The Great-grandfather looked at the flotsam and jetsam tossed up by the night's storms. The cetacean was not a stranding but had been delivered by the morning's tide. 

"She died, Benton, probably of a chest infection and the waves brought her here," the old man cast a knowing eye at the water. "She'll be gone by the morning." 

"Where?" Benton wailed. 

"Davy Jones' Locker." 

"Where?" Benton demanded, his little brow furrowed. 

The old man beckoned his grandson to his side. Sniffling, Benton glued himself against his thigh. Sad, tear filled eyes looked up at him. He was tempted to lie to the child, a child who had just lost his mother but it wasn't in his nature to play fast and loose the truth even for the best of reasons. 

"Where old sailors go when they die, the abyssal depths of the ocean, to rest for eternity." Benton Fraser Snr intoned. 

Wheels were turning behind the clear blue eyes, analysing his Great-grandfather's words. The old man waited patiently. 

"Baby?" was the surprising question. 

Scratching at the side of his neck Benton Snr considered the question, aware that his Grandson was mimicking the motion. 

"She probably had a calf," he knew where this was leading but he could see no way to misdirect the conversation, "she looks like a mature female." 

"Poor baby." he seemed to be repeating words that he had heard. 

Benton released his Great-grandfather and looked out to the sea searching vainly for the orphaned calf. Benton Snr dropped an arthritic hand on his grandson's shoulder. He squeezed as comfortingly as possible, the child's body was poised and tense. Benton continued to scan the horizon trying to see a single whale in the cold grey water. A spume flashed amongst the waves. The old man took it as a sign. 

"Look there's a whale, maybe that's your little whale?" 

"Is he looking for his mummy? Does he know she's here?" 

"His family, his pod, will look after him." 

"'till they gone." Benton said profoundly. 

The old man hung his head, almost crying, what a hard lesson for such a small child to have learnt. Gently, he turned the boy to face him, he wasn't too sure how much of the explanation the child would understand but he wasn't going to patronise the boy. 

"Yes, Benton, people," he searched for a suitable euphemism, and failed, "die. The baby whale had his mum for a while, now he has uncles and aunts and Great-grandfathers to look after him until he can look after himself. Someday his..." the words stuck in his throat. 

The child's bottom lip jutted out and quivered uncertainly, there was an incendiary little gleam stirring in his blue eyes. 

"Mummy's dead. Mummy's gone." 

_Who's yours or the calf?_ the old man asked silently. The child seemed entrapped by his bereavement. Had he been allowed to grieve? Had his father, Robert, explained anything to the child? 

"Yes, but mummy's still here." Great-grandfather poked Great-grandson directly over his beating heart, trying vainly to make his point. 

Benton's face screwed up, his expression was thoroughly confused. 

_Dear God, he's only a little baby; he doesn't deserve this!_ But a prescient, hollow feeling in the old man's gut made him continue. 

"Benton," he said seriously and apparently changing the subject, "remember when we went down to the settlement and the fisherman let us use his rod and line?" 

Tentative nod. 

"We had fun didn't we? And then we shared the apple pie I 'borrowed' from your Grandmother?" Bigger, happier nod. "I liked the apple pie an' the fishing too, Ganggan." 

"That was one of the best days of my life. I'll _never_ forget it." 

The boy leaned trustingly into his side, "me too." 

The Great-grandfather ruffled the tousled hair and considered the small boy - the message had not been fully understood. Maybe one day Benton Fraser Junior would comprehend what his Great-grandfather was so painfully trying to convey - but not today. 

"If you remember anything that I tell you, remember that: death is only one moment in a person's life, there are other moments to cherish...." 

There was no response from the boy, Benton Fraser Snr couldn't tell what was going through his quick, but of course, young mind. Where would he next take the thread of the conversation? However, he seemed content to watch the water. Casting his mind back, Benton Snr wondered at the child's distance. His own son, Matthew, the child's Grandfather, had been an energetic happy boy. It was so very long ago and he knew that he remembered it with a parent's bias. But Robert, when they had spent time together, had shown a well developed tendency towards introspection. 

_He's just lost his mum; what can I expect?_

"I'm hungry, Great-grandfather." 

The old man laughed gently. "Let's go back, then. Grandmother will be getting dinner ready." 

The whale was rocking as the high tide lapped against the fleshed skeleton. Soon there would be no sign of the poor whale. He knew that he should inform the local Inuit of the corpse's presence; they could use the fragments of skin and whale bone. A single tooth had been dislodged, it lay gleaming between two algae covered rocks. 

"Benton, would you bring that big tooth over?" 

The child did not argue, but his curiosity was obvious. There was no fear as he picked up the tooth and handed it over. The old man turned the sharp white tooth over in his hands. Somehow, today it didn't seem like desecration to take the tooth. Necessity drove the Inuit, but another urge crystallised the old man's resolve. 

He didn't think that the whale would mind. 

He tucked the tooth into his pocket and then he climbed laboriously to his feet. 

"What are you going to do, Ganggan?" Benton piped up. 

"I'm going to make you something to remember the whale by, something beautiful." 

Benton shrugged, a suprisingly adult gesture, and then skipped ahead, the whale and sadness apparently dismissed. The Great-grandfather watched the bundle of energy clamber over the rocks to play with the crabs and shrimps hiding under the seaweed. 

_And something to remember me by._

_fin_

* * *


End file.
